


Tails of the Mousefolk

by internal_panic



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:51:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internal_panic/pseuds/internal_panic
Summary: The Mousefolk are among the smallest peoples in all the mortal realms. Rarely standing above 2 feet tall, they are often overlooked and underestimated. An orc could probably step on one and be none the wiser. Most of them are content to live simple lives, and only display ferocity in the most dire times. But short mice can tell tall tales. Beneath the unassuming exterior is a rich and vibrant history and collection of folk tales, of heroes and monsters, of fools and mages, of the trials and tribulations of the ordinary people. The Mousefolk invite you to sit by the fire and celebrate life, in all its complexities, contradictions and absurdities.





	1. The Bard's introduction

Welcome travelers. I hope that you are seated comfortably, and that all the illusion spells will keep us safe from wandering beasts tonight.

Thank you for allowing these tales to be told. It is something we hold quite dear, and take joy in being able to regale our stories to a new audience. Before we start, it might be helpful to provide a little clarity on where these stories come from, what they mean to us, and what it means to me. 

Our clan Mitztik is in the town of Unter Vas de Scrit. It is a small enclave in a large city, a safe place, a quiet one. In our home the loudest sound during the day will be the turning of the family scrolls as a child fills his mind, the scribbling of verse, and the distant hum of craftsfolk hard at work. At night we gather around the kiddush and break bread, sing songs, and unwind from a long day. We do not fear the outside world despite our small stature. We are taught to think of ourselves as a community, and it is from there that we gain our strength. I'm a journeyman baker, but I feel the wilds of the world beckoning me. I. Such a word is not often used among us. it has a tendency to become boastful, to speak of selfishness. What is done is done for the group. But it is not out of vanity that I (there it is again) wish to travel, it is not even unusual among us to have adventurers.It is a peculiar feeling, to want to break from the safety of the burrow and explore the caverns, the twisted forests, the byzantine city streets. But it is a calling, and that call to purpose must be answered by all of us, no matter how unorthodox it may be. I will not be alone, I will have to carry on the songs of my people. We search for knowledge, and to be a keeper of lore and culture is a great honor. The world is vast, with so many hidden secrets and small works of beauty. I am called to search for it, and to take witness in all the small unnoticed, but nonetheless important goings on. My heart is loyal to my kin, but my path takes me into places of solitude. And that is not such a bad thing.I do not seek to have my name remembered by the world, I do not seek glory or fortune, I simply wish to know and contribute by acts of humble fortitude and kindness. To be a witness, cultivator, recorder and scholar of the hidden, because it is the small things that can become magnitudes. 

My name is Chava Tharpe. I love acorn pies, I have a song in my heart, and hope to share that song with you.


	2. The Way of the Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intentions matter.

Martin the Warrior was a brave and fierce Meadow Guard. His clan lived on the outskirts of a small town called Marshank that faced the river. Beyond the meadows and the tall wheat grass fields were the wetlands, full of dangerous beasts and traveling warlike creatures, most notably the ravenous bullywugs. They sought to rob the incoming ferrys, or even devour the unfortunate crewmen. The Meadowmice were the first and most formidable line of defense. Martin lead many charges over the years. Though he grew old and grey in the whisker, his sword never failed, and he remained steadfast. One day he was resting in the spring sun. A youngster came up to him, clad in a bright red tunic. The lad was so young that he had not yet chosen his name. His ears did not fit him yet. He came up to the aging warrior.

"Great Martin, I want to help fight when I am grown. Will you teach me to be a great warrior like you?

"Why do you want to be a great warrior? There are many other paths to fulfillment that don't require such sacrifice and pain."

"I want to save the clan. I want to bash those 'wugs right between their eyes. They will think twice before messing with me!"

"You want to inflict pain. A warrior protects. You are not ready to become a warrior"

With that the young mouse was dismissed. He was dejected, but still determined.

The day came when he was brought into the Arch Caverns. He learned of the clan's history, and became fascinated with its great legacy. He did not listen with great intent of the tales of respected merchants or of Bluebell, the inventor of the flatbed knitting mechanism which revolutionized the local textile industry. He wanted to hear about the warriors, and about the travelers of far off places. He took the name Matthias, after a Meadowgard defender of the Redwall clan. Matthias dreamed of proving himself a warrior. He exercised his body and read about sparring. His ears were still quite large for him. Once again, he approached Martin.

'"Great Martin. I am ready to become a warrior. All Mousefolk must find their path and I have found mine, to follow in the footsteps of the warriors of the past. There are great evils in this world, and I know I am destined to help stamp them out and keep our people safe!"

Martin opened one eye. He had been sitting still on a rock. A bird had landed near his rapier. For a moment, he appeared silent and as unmoved as the stone. 

"There will always be evil in this world, so long as there are bad choices, lack of judgement, selfishness, ignorance and carelessness. If you wait long enough, you need not go looking for trouble. It will find you. You want to strike the world in anger and in offense. Your heart is in the right place, but you have yet to understand what you fight for. You are not ready to become a warrior."

"But sir, how will I know when I am ready? What do I need to do?"

"That is the problem. You are concerned with becoming a warrior at all costs. I fight because it is where I am needed most, not because I want to be remembered as a great warrior. When you see this as a duty rather than a calling, when you hope never to raise your sword because a war could destroy all that is precious, when you respect and value all that we are over your own, and when you treat violence as a last resort, then you are ready to become a warrior."

This time Matthias left angry. He kicked a stone, accidentally bruising his foot.  
Martin chuckled. "Passion is an excellent thing, but perhaps you need to pick a more appropriate opponent."  
Matthias was sent by his father to apprentice as a miller in Marshank. At first he hated it. He longed for adventure. He wanted to find every lizardfolk and kenku and bullywug and smash them to pieces. His companions saw the fire in his eyes and realized that, while adventuring in of itself was fine for Mousefolk, it might be disastrous to let him go out if it was for the wrong reason. But after a while the hard mill work wore him down, like the wheat pressed into flour. Matthias went to sleep quickly most nights. One day he saw something happen that brought back the fire, but it was somehow different. A local merchant was seen kicking out a tiefling, abusing her and verbally assaulting her. On any other day Matthias would have tried to fight, but instead, he approached the tiefling and tended to her. The guild gave shelter to her that night. The next morning, Matthias led a air of grievance to the local council, pleading for a reprimand to the merchant and a compensation for his victim. He led a petition and gathered witnesses, and justice was soon served. He promised to stay in touch with the traveling tiefling, whose name was Beaumen.  
Matthias became involved in the affairs of the town, and when he was in charge of the mill-work, did quiet, anonymous acts of charity, taking in stray travelers for the night who had no where else to go. He sent in petitions to start a system of welfare for the poor. He was not artistic, but labored to create works of beauty in the form of intricate baked goods. When he made trips back to the meadow in preparation for running the small mill there, he took time to stop and plant some thyme in the communal herb garden, and tended to it lovingly. He loved to see it grow, and to see that he had made a difference in his community, had caused it to blossom. He even went on a mini adventure, helping a Tortle captain to reclaim his ship from a sunken wreck in the marsh. He served as the guide, helping to avoid known Bullywug spots. Life was content, until troubling news was brought up on the whispers of the winds.  
He approached Martin again. Martin was retired, but still very capable with a sword. Martin put on an air of being annoyed at being interrupted but hid a small smile under his beard. 

" Great Martin, I come to ask a great favor. I have heard that a warlord has been ravaging the countryside, and may soon find his way here. He brings anguish as his traveling companion, and leaves mass graves as parting gifts. I must help protect Marshank, our clan, and the meadow. My mill is at a strategic point. It is strong and holds precious supplies. I need to defend it."

" Could others defend it?"

" Perhaps they could. But I cannot wait for others to answer the call. It should not be my burden to bear. But it is what it is. 

"Can this warlord not be stopped another way?"

" He has sent messengers back full of arrows. The Meadowgard is working to evacuate the children and the council is working to fortify Marshank, planning escape boats if need be.  
"This sounds like a dangerous foe. Do you realize you might die?"

"If I have not done all that I can to protect this land, then I could not live."

Martin nodded grimly. 

"I will teach you the tools you need to increase the chances of your survival, but the will is already there. You are ready. "

" I am afraid."

" I am always afraid. Afraid that my actions will not have been enough."

"Great Martin, do you have any advice on conquering fear?"

Martin paused in gardening his potatoes.

"Like evil, it never goes away, you just have to push it aside long enough. But I find that a nice vodka helps with the nerves."


	3. The Eyes have it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for an abrupt tonal shift. Mousefolk tend to be content with life, to try and work with what they are given. But even they can fall into the trap of judgement and arrogance. This tale takes us to the far off city of Lod Kut, built ringing a caldera. It may appear peaceful, but there is no telling if, or when, a volcano long dormant may erupt.

Mousefolk are never truly secure. The Rumkow clan felt this more poignantly than others, though they refused to admit it. The great tropical city Lod Kut was famous for its brilliant white beaches, luscious mango trees, and sunny streets. The distillery of the Rumkow had none of that. It was tucked in the cavernous back gully neighborhood of Labotellarota, with dark alleys and foreboding fortress like architecture left over from the times of periodic Orcish invasion. It was not a welcoming place, to say the least, and it would have been considered insulting to be pushed into the dark, with roaming bands of kenku and goblins scurrying in the cobbled streets. Yet the Mousefolk here felt pride at what they had accomplished, despite the limitations placed upon them.  
Beneath the carefree exterior of Lod Kut simmered age old tensions. It carried many peoples from the sea into its caldera some of whom did not always see eye to eye. The leaders of the city knew this, and kept the residents largely among their own kind. It was kinder that way, they said. Best to keep your histories, your traditions and your culture alive. Each race had its own Home Force to keep the peace, and the Lord's Guard to provide extra security when needed. The Mousefolk Home Force was considered an honorable calling among the Rumkow, almost as much as working in the distillery to produce their famous berry liquor. They wore their tattered uniforms and held their chipped clubs with pride, seeing their varnished badges as a sign of frugality and independence. No one brought up the fact that the local council had besieged the Metzerot countless times to send a single licensed combat mage, while the downtown residential areas were gifted with mages, carriages, and tax credits. The disparity became more and more pronounced each year. The Metzerot were squandering supplies, and goods had become harder to come by due to sanctions pushed on the city as the result of futile aggressive efforts to grab resources from other noble bodies. The heat simmered on.  
One year the hurricanes were more devastating than usual. The Rumkow were less affected than downtown, due to being inland and with their impregnable fortress. But water still filled the streets and no one could use the wells. The council sent word to the Metzerot for help, but nothing. Starving and displaced peoples from other parts of the city trickled in, but the Lord's Guard was still no where to be seen. The Mousefolk gave what they could to the refugees. They welcomed them into their homes, gathered around the kiddush, broke their scant rations of bread, and sang songs. There was still trouble. A few had taken advantage of the chaos and crime increased. The Home Force again called for aid. It fell on deaf ears. There was not enough food, water or medicine, and some died.   
Weeks passed and the waters receded. An emissary came to Labotellarota, and, with all eyes staring silently at her, announced that a tax would soon be levied to help pay for repairs. Those repairs would turn out to solely benefit downtown. The Rumkow were furious, but they did not want to anger the Metzerot with protests. So they did their best to continue their lives. There were meetings behind closed doors. The other districts were a little more active.   
Protests began. Dwarves walked out of the factories and forges. Merchants closed shop and picketed the Palais du Lodkut. The Rumkow hid. Supply chains were disrupted, food shortages became common, the High Council started turning on each other as their inept and corrupt practices came to light. Still the Rumkow hid. A wealthy caravan insurance magnate started to emerge among the discontent. He blamed the uptown residents for holding out. He blamed the kenku for causing chaos, although they were not much more than a nuisance and they had also suffered. He claimed that he could lead the city into the light, if they could only rid it of its " inferior pestilence." He became loud, and his supporters louder. The Metzerot bowed to public pressure and gave him a seat in the Palais. Reports began to come in of harassment. Delivery caravans for the distillery were stopped and questioned by the border militias, and children were caught several times trying to throw rocks at the windows of the compound.   
"Its best to wait for this to tide over", said Mortus, the head of the distillery.  
"We must have faith in our leadership, they will weather this storm", said Anya the fishmonger.  
"These people are ridiculous, they listen to this fellow thats never done a decent deed in his life? Why would we sabotage this city? We are all in the same boat"said Chikory the bard.  
"I heard that the Metzerot is calling for peace and order. They even thanked all the Home Guards for their service. Is it worth worrying? It just seems like they are going after criminals" said Barley the corporal.   
"Can you all get out of my quarters? I am trying to weave this tapestry" tittered Monk the perfectionist.  
The impromptu gathering was thankfully (for Monk) interrupted by a commotion in the streets.   
The guards came and started to round up the kenku gang, destroying their meager possessions. A youngster named Chaim was among the Mousefolk Home Force there to provide assistance, and he saw the crowd begin to swell with excitement. A small crow had fallen down in the chaos as a young dwarf began to drag it across the stone. The blow made it so that its limb was sticking out in an odd way. The bird squawked in a panicked, shattered cry  
"No, please !"  
"Shut it scum!"  
"Not scum! Not aaawwk! The pitiful creature let out a pained plea, sounding eerily similar to a chicken being slaughtered at market. It was soon drowned out by the murmurs of the crowd. The Dwarf Guard shoved it toward Chaim, who was maintaining the road block in front of the containment carriage. The kenku said nothing, but looked Chaim straight in the eye. Chaim looked away. The other Home Force members barked orders at the crowd to disperse, but they did so in a very non-urgent matter. Some of the Mousefolk even tried to converse with their family members on the Home Force.   
Soon the streets were empty, eerily so. Chaim was alone.  
Its just a bird, a thief and a parasite he thought.   
But that could not quell the queasiness in his gut, the stirring of unsaid and half formed words that swirled inside him. The kenku was afraid. It was in pain. Did it even have a name? Where were they being taken? All the questions he had suppressed were rising to the surface, filling his ears and whiskers with the sound of the unfortunate waif over and over. This was not how it was supposed to be. The Home Force was something he had looked forward to, partly out of honor but also because its members got discounts in the local bars. He ran his paw through his tuft of tan fur, a nervous habit.   
He had to do something. But what?  
Surely the Metzerot didnt realize the full extent of the damage could they? If someone was able to give them an account of the rising tensions, the needless brutality, then maybe that could help them see the harm they were causing their citizens. After all, you could trust a Mousefolk to be honest and honorable.   
So he set out for downtown. He saw fewer sights he recognized, and although he was afraid, he persisted. He became uneasy as he came through the Human parts of town. Humans could be unpredictable, and he was getting uncomfrotable looks from civilians and from the surprising amount of armed soldiers. They did not have the uniform of the Lord's Guard, but a drab green smock with light armor.Trembling, he approached the public gate of the Palais, where citizens could go to submit grievance.  
"State your identity and purpose!"  
The large guard at the gate (surprisingly closed) had bellowed at Chaim. The mouse stopped and nearly turned tail.   
"Sir, my name is Chaim Rumkow, Private of the Mousefolk Home Force"  
"There's no such thing, not anymore! Don't you get smart with me, rodent."What are you really doing here?   
"I just helped with an operation in Labotellarota this afternoon! I even have the badge and letter of acceptance submitted by Captain Loslank, she's served for 10 years on the force.In any case, I need to submit a grievance to the Metzerot."  
"Policy change, this area is now off limits. Now scurry off. "  
Chaim then heard something dreadful, something that caused him to stay for a moment. It was screaming, and it seemed to be coming from below the Palais. Screaming that sounded awfully close to a caw.  
"I'll not leave until I can submit a grievance or until I can speak to your superior. " The mouse stood trembling like a leaf, his voice high pitched and reedy, but resolute. The guard noticed his small Home Guard issued club tucked into his tunic belt and quickly performed an alert spell. A blaring noise arose, and more guards appeared. Chaim saw them heading for him, and panicked, and fled down an alley.   
The guards were not far behind, but Chaim thought he could lose them in a small back way. Catching his breath, he noticed that the alley was plastered with posters of the merchant, and with an accompanying message in Common:  
By order of the Supreme Metzerot voice of the people, the Home Guard system is disbanded, effective immediately. Any being caught swearing allegiance to disbanded organizations is to be considered a security threat and concerned citizens should notify their local garrison.   
Oh no, no no. Heart racing, he did the only thing he could think of. He sprinted home in the dead of the night. He made it back to the outskirts of the neighborhood as dawn was approaching and everyone was getting ready for a new day. He was going to make it. He was going to warn everyone that the Home Guard was no more, and that, undoubtebly, they would find themselves unprotected from the wrath of the growing mobs if they did not take action.   
"There he is!"  
Crap.  
The green wearing soldiers caused a clamor, and ran straight toward Chaim. There was no where to run this time. 

The mouse struggled but the Humans were easily three times his size. Through bruised and blackened eyes, and through a raspy throat, he shouted hoarsly to the crowd. He saw familiar faces, his clan, his beloved family. In the coming morning light they appeared illuminated. Perhaps his eyes were blurred, but in that moment he saw ethereal beauty in his world of panic.  
"My brothers, my sisters, listen! They are coming for us!"  
Whack.  
"You are not safe, you are all next!  
Whack. A few more blows and he was forced into silence.  
It would have been worth it, sputtering blood and teeth from his blistered mouth, to see realization in the crowd. Anger, rebellion, anything. But the last thing he saw before being loaded into the pitch black carriage was their dark eyes in contrast to the brilliant summer sun. Watching, unblinking, unknowing, unmoved.


	4. The City Mouse, the Country Mouse, and the Gated Suburb Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually, the country mouse learns to appreciate their simple life after experiencing the high rolling but dangerous adventures of the city mouse. But in a world where roving bands of thieves, dragons, mad gods, and eldritch horrors are a constant threat, are either really safer than the other? Do they have more in common than they realize? And how strong can they be if they work together?

At the edge of the world, near a lonely moor and distant dark forest, there lived a mouse in the fields named Brie. She was a rather plain grey furred lass. She lived a simple life as the daughter of an innkeeper in the windswept countryside. Almost always, the travelers that frequented her family's inn came from the nearby city, on their way across the treacherous forest to the world beyond. One gray and still morning, a merry band of travelers did take lodge at the inn, and to Brie's surprise, one of the band was a member of the Moon Valley Softpaws, the distant cousins of the Meadow mice. They lived in the city that nestled in the steep cliffs where the wilderness met the sea. The hood patterned Silvine was a well dressed individual, her sparkling mage apprentice robes somehow gleaming even in the dim light before the dawn. As Brie helped the party to settle into their lodgings, she could not help but strike up a conversation with Silvine. She was filled with rather interesting stories from her travels, and seemed eager to have a fellow mouse who would appreciate these crumbs of knowledge. She also seemed enamored with the simpler life in the moor. Over a simple dinner of oat polenta and 5 flavor vegetable soup, she regaled the tribulations of training to be a spellcaster, the petty bickering, the hectic schedules, the constant need for order and deadlines. It was so captivating that Bris nearly forgot to attend to the other guests. "I envy you all out in the country here. Away from all the mess of the town." " Ha, if you think that I would not trade some bureaucracy for the chance to lay on some soft down pillows, not have to get up at the crack of dawn to count the eggs from the ruddy chickens, then you are mistaken." "Maybe you should come over then at some point. I'm sure your mother sends someone out for supplies for the inn at some point?" Silvine's eyes seemed to glow, as if she had secret knowledge. Perhaps you might be running out of something for the pantry after a large crowd, like, say vanilla extract or sugar. It would certainly be nice to return the favor of your exceptional hospitality to my party." Brie felt flattered. It was rare she got this much attention. So enamored with the possibility of visiting the city, she amicably agreed. Sure enough, within a few moons, the inn had run out of vanilla extract and sugar. It was expensive, but these new spices were gaining massive popularity, so they could not go without it. Brie's mother would have gone herself, but found that she had caught a stomach bug. Even in her sickness, she had to give out orders to the house, meaning that Brie learned she was to head the supply journey from her mother yelling from all the way in the latrine. Although she had sympathy for her mother, Brie wondered why she felt the need to yell from across many rooms, yet scolded them for similar behavior. And before she knew it, she was in the city for the first time. It was quite a sight to behold: spiraling towers, joyously bustling markets, ships docking in the bucolic deep water ports. While waiting on the shipment of their supplies to come in, she sought out the mage tower and Silvine. It was slightly intimidating, as the structure had clearly been built for larger peoples in mind. But Silvine's warm smile helped to make it less foreboding. They sat and made conversation, telling stories and sharing folk tunes to pass the time. It would have been a tranquil day, all in all, but a small robin had flitted up to the window, bewitched by the Animal Messenger Spell. It spoke in a nasally, high pitched voice. "Silvine, I do hate to bother you on your day off, but I have been having the most trying day, and the Makeup cantrip has worn off! I need to schedule an immediate house call, and I need you to reschedule any other appointments!" Silvine groaned. " Ack Millicent, you miserable momzer! Well, there goes my day. I'm terribly sorry about that. I do some odd jobs in between studies, and I normally wouldn't work with Millicent, but she's technically still Moon Valley. And our mothers are still friends, somehow." Bris nodded sympathetically. Customer service was never easy, even with clan members. "I hate to ask, I'm such a terrible host, but would you mind tagging along? I wouldn't want you to have to be alone, and I need someone there to keep me from pulling her tail off." "Sure, I'll go. And hey, its not like you can control when someone else needs you." Silvine thanked her profusely. They headed off to where Millicent lived. Her family had invested in sugar plantations, and, in an odd move, had decided to live apart from Moon Valley Commons. In fact, they were in an almost separate part from the city entirely. It was large, square houses with expansive green acreage and orderly, almost uniform planting of trees. There was a iron gate surrounding this community. And surrounding that gate were angry druids. They were greeted by a rather corpulent looking mouse, who seemed to have consumed so much wine that it lit up her cheeks through her silver fur. Brie thought she looked similar to an engorged tick. " Don't mind them, they wont get violent. They just don't like how most of the native plants here were eradicated, and how much irrigation these lawns use up. Wasting mother earth they say." Brie couldn't say she blamed them. And from the way Silvine looked down, she seemed to feel the same. "Who's this? Oh never mind just get in, hurry hurry!" She shooed them in as the chanting of the druids grew louder. They closed the door, with Silvine bolting it as a bear had suddenly been materialized on the lawn. "Silvy, dear, I don't know why you cant just teleport in here. Do you know how long its been since our last appointment?" "3 days, and I can't just teleport into your house. I can only go to the Mage Center from out of town." "Exactly, 3 days! Ive gone 12 hours now without any effects. I cant even stand to leave my house, just look at me!" Millicent seemed on the verge of hysterics. "Oh, alright, I guess it will be the usual then? Bris, would you mind grabbing the bag? We will go into the parlor, and start there." They made their way to the parlor, where Millicent draped herself over a satin chair. Silvine procured a cloth and several potions meant to enhance and lengthen the Glamour cantrips. She worked quickly and efficiently, leaving Bris to wait awkwardly in the corner. Millicent seemed to enjoy complaining about anything to her captive audience, but did not extend that attention to the country mouse. ".... and we were of course happy to hold a reception for our investors, but it spoils you to be among such glamour and sophistication, only to return to this. This city can be quite the letdown." I do think you should consider something a bit more lucrative for yourself, not be at the beck and call of the public in this mage business. I might know a young sorcerer who comes from a long line of casters who could be interested in taking on another probate for his business. "Mm-hmm." "Not that you would know, dear, I suppose that you don't get to experience such luxury in the Commons or the mage barracks. Not saying that its a terrible area of the city, but I did hear that the council is considering building a charity settlement nearby. If I were you, I would move to block it. Would definitely lower property values for you to have those people there. "Mm-hmm" Silvine started gritting her teeth and her grip tightened. "Honestly, there so much room on the moor, its not like we are using it for anything else. Why not send them out there, have them work for it out on a farm. I'm sure we would all want our taxes to be utilized effectively, and they would be grateful to have the option to repay our generosity with labor that befits them." "WELL WE ARE DONE, I THINK WE SHALL BE GOING" Silvine almost shouted. "Oh very well then, I hope that the effects last a bit longer now." Brie had noticed during this time that the druids had still not left. In fact, they seemed to be even more riled, with one vine almost reaching to a window. If only a vine could come in here and slap that makeup off her face. She could hear them coming closer, and feel the tension in the air. Millicent seemed to be finished, and her voice rang out like a trumpet. "Next time, please be sure to wipe off that city grime before you come in please." That was the last straw. Brie did not know what compelled her to act, But she spotted a nearby bust and, struggling to hold it over her diminutive frame, smashed open the window where the vine was tapping. She ran from the window as soon as the deed was done, hurrying towards the other two in a state of "panic". "Stay back! They've broken through the window, miss! They're going to get in!" She locked eyes with Silvine, and a moment of understanding passed between them. "What is those nonsense! I'll give those wildlings a piece of my mind!" In a rage, the socialite failed to notice Silvine whispering behind her paw. Millicent strode toward the window, and as she started to berate the druids, a terrible cacophony arose from the chambers. It sounded like an army charging forth, growing and ferocious. The color drained from Millicent's fur as she startled forward, pushing out the window, and right into the path of the errant vine, which uppercut her so forcefully that she was knocked right back in. She fell to the floor, unconscious. The commotion had caused guards to rush to dispel the druids. They had been on break before and so had not seen a reason to interfere at this point. Silvine and Brie dragged Millicent to the next room, while the former procured a Healing potion. "It's not much, but will will prevent her from having a concussion. I'd teleport myself and her to the tower for further healing, but I wouldn't want to expose her to any city grime." Within moments, the mouse was snoring peacefully on her chaise lounge. The two shared a secret smile as Silvine cast the spell for them to leave. They arrived back at the Mage Center, which was a short scurry to the Commons. Bris would depart from the city soon afterwards, being significantly delayed by the goodwill of the Softpaws, all of whom seemed to turn out to bid farewell. She left with her intended supplies, and a promise to stay in touch with Silvine as much as possible. Both had gained a better understanding and appreciation for each other's position, and came to have a favorite saying in their letters. Whenever one expressed unhappiness or a feeling of insignificance, the other would always chide "You certainly have value, because you aren't a Millicent."


End file.
